Meet the Bloody United Kingdom
by otakuandproud123
Summary: Lame title is lame. Anyway, England is taking America to meet his brothers! What hijinks will ensue? Rated T for language and the genre might become romance after a while, just like every other fic here. /shot
1. Chapter 1

**I'm going to put in a warning here; there will be OCs. I'm sure you can guess who by the title, and that the other ones will be a surprise. Anyway, sorry if some of the slang in this offends you ^_-' I used a British slang translator to do it. *headdesk***

America sat back and put his hands behind his head. Today had been another long and tiring day, and he needed a good rest. Surely no-one would mind if he just lied down on the couch and took a little nap...

Before America could take a nap, though, a seriously annoying ring cut through his thoughts. He groaned inwardly and picked up the phone. The corners of his mouth curled up into a smile when he saw who was calling, and he raised the phone to his ear.

"'Sup, British dude!" he said, sitting up and putting a hand on his knee.

"Yes, yes, hello." England said from the other end of the phone. America didn't know this, but England was packing bags, sandwiching the phone between his ear and his shoulder. "Can you meet me at King's Cross station in around ten minutes?" the elder nation asked. America narrowed his eyes and adjusted Texas.

"Why?" he asked.

"It's a surprise." England said with a teasing note in his voice. America grinned.

"I like surprises." America said, standing up and heading to the staircase. "But can you give me one little hint at what it might be?"

"Absolutely not." came the reply. America sighed.

"All right..."

* * *

><p><strong>TWENTY MINUTES LATER<strong>

* * *

><p>England stood at the place where he was supposed to meet America, his bag hoisted over his shoulder. He sighed and checked his watch.<p>

"Where can he be? I mean, the hotel is only a five-minute drive from here." he muttered, when one arm went across his neck and a hand rubbed his head.

"Yo!" America said. "How'd ya like my greeting? I call it a noogie!"

England pried America's hands away from him and rubbed the places where they used to be. He turned to the younger nation.

"Where were you for the past twenty minutes, action man? Huh?" England asked, prodding America's chest with one finger. America shrugged.

"Got hungry and stopped by McDonald's." he said nonchalantly. England put a hand on his forehead and sighed.

"Should have known..." he said. He pulled up a small checklist – you know, just in case America had forgotten anything.

"Anyway, the train leaves in twenty minutes. We need to check if we have everything. Got your jacket – never mind..." England said, looking over America. Today he had decided to wear a baseball cap, a white shirt with the American flag on it, a pair of blue jeans, and as usual, his trademark bomber jacket. England's clothes were a bit more formal; a black top hat, a black coat, a white long sleeved shirt (not a blouse), and brown trousers. He looked as if he was going to meet the Queen rather than take America to meet his brothers.

"Got your clothes?"

"Check."

"American entertainment?"

"3DS, PSP, GameBoy, the works!" America said, holding up a small backpack. He also held up two walkie-talkies, handing one to England, earning him a confused gaze from the Brit.

"Just in case ya get lost." America said, grinning. England shook his head.

"Anyway... shoes? Cash? Credit card?"

"Check, check, and check. To answer the rest of your questions..." America gestured to his bag, which had bulges in some places. "No, this bag is not stuffed with burgers, yes, I have my watch, and yes, I have my sunglasses."

"Oh, where we're going, you don't need sunglasses." England said with a small smirk. Suddenly, a voice came over on the intercom.

"People who are to be on the train heading to Edinburgh, Scotland, must go to platform 9." it said. England ignored the rest of the announcement and dragged America to the platform, which had only been a few meters away. America caught sight of something and stared at it for a moment, ignoring England's protests.

"Iggy, what's that?" he asked, pointing to it. England glared at the younger nation for the use of his dreaded nickname for a moment, then turned his head to glance at what America was pointing at.

"Oh, that? It's a Platform 9 and three quarters sign." he said. America squirmed free from England's grasp and ran over to it.

"That's so cool! There's even a trolley in the wall!" America said, bubbling over with excitement. He grasped the handle of the trolley and pushed, trying to get the rest of it through. "Take a picture, Artie!"

Oh yes, that's one thing I forgot to mention. All nations were meant to refer to each other using human names when they were among the people. This was thanks to Russia; he had walked out into the middle of a street shouting "Become one with Russia! Russia is me!". Needless to say, the civilians were not amused.

England facepalmed as he walked through the crowd to America. "Alfred, be quiet."

"Not until you take a picture!"

England sighed and rummaged through his bag to find the camera he had packed (America always wanted pictures of the place he visited).

"Smile." he said, lifting the camera to his eye and pressing the shutter. A series of flashes came, leaving America with bubbles in his vision. The man shook his head to clear them and walked back to England, grinning.

"Let me see." he said, grabbing the camera and looking through the gallery. He grinned at the pictures. "Hey, I look pretty good!" he noted. England rolled his eyes and snatched the camera back.

"Sure you do. Anyway, let's get onto the train." he said, pulling America through the crowd and getting his bag while he was at it. They hopped onto the train and made their way to a couple of empty seats.

* * *

><p><strong>During the ride<strong>

* * *

><p>America had decided to fall asleep about ten minutes into the ride. A string of drool ran down his cheek, and England wiped it away before he dove into his bag (<span>not<span> a purse), searching for his notebook (not a diary). He found the small book and fished a pen out of his pocket.

_October 27_

_Taking America to see my brothers. I wonder how they'll react to each other. I know for sure that Wales' reaction won't be good, though - what with America killing all that cattle to make those idiotic burgers. He'll probably get along with... you know what, never mind._

* * *

><p>And now some unneeded explanations! :D<p>

King's Cross= A train station in London. Fans of Harry Potter are sure to know about this.

Texas= America's glasses, if you didn't already know.

Action man= A man who participates in macho activities.

McDonald's= England has a secret passion for hamburgers. /shot

Platform 9 and 3/4= There was a small cast-iron sign put in between platforms 9 and 10 with part of a luggage trolley sticking out of the wall under it. However, due to crowd problems, the trolley was taken out. A new trolley was placed to the right hand side of platform 1 as of 2011. However, it is not the original.


	2. Chapter 2

**I based some dialogue in this on a conversation me and my mother constantly have. E-cookies for you if you guess which one it was!**

After around four hours, the train finally arrived at Waverly train station. England looked up and shut _The Fellowship of The Ring_, memorizing the page while doing so. Slowly, he stretched out his limbs – the whole train ride, he had not moved, except to turn the pages of the book. After doing so, he looked at the snoring America sitting next to him and nudged his shoulder. No response. Frowning, England tapped his head. America's eyes gently fluttered open.

"Five more minutes..." he muttered. England pinched the younger nation's nose, causing America to flail about.

"Dude, what the hell?" he groaned. England gestured to the window.

"We're already in Edinburgh." he said. Groggily, America picked up his bag. England narrowed his eyes. "What time did you go to bed at?"

America shrugged. "Don't remember." he said. England facepalmed.

"My gosh, America. You need to control yourself with those videogames!" he said. America put up his hands defensively.

"Never said that! 'S the time difference!" he said.

"What time difference? London and Edinburgh have the same times, you git!" he argued. America put up his index finger as if he was making a point, but he put it back down again after no sound came out of his mouth.

"You caught me." he sighed. "Anyway, let's just get off this freaking train already!" he said, grabbing his bags and walking to the door. England rolled his eyes and followed, hoisting his bag over his shoulder.

* * *

><p>The moment the two stepped onto the platform, America felt chilly. He was glad he was wearing his jacket.<p>

"Geez, what's the temperature? Negative 12 or something?" he asked, looking around for a thermometer. England appeared to not be affected by the cold.

"Oh, it's probably around 6 degrees Celsius." he said nonchalantly, earning a confused stare from the younger nation. "42 degrees Fahrenheit." he added. America nodded and ran to the exit of the station.

"Come on, Artie!" he yelled. England shook his head and walked after America.

* * *

><p>After some time spent waiting, the two had managed to hail a taxi. The driver had a thick accent and used slang that America couldn't understand. Luckily, after a short ten minute trip (during which England conversed with the driver, leaving America to wonder how he was able to do so), they had arrived at a small two-story cottage perched beside a river. Beside the river lay a small field that had three or four sheep grazing in it and a fenced off area that had some sort of plant growing in it. It was, as England would describe it, quaint. The car slowly pulled to a stop outside the gate. America thought he could see someone looking out the window, but it could have just been a trick of the light. England finished his conversation with the driver and paid him 3 euro. The two nations stepped out of the car, and the moment they slammed the door, the taxi sped away. When America turned to the house, there was someone walking to the gate. From what he could see, that someone was wearing a green cap with a red dragon on it.<p>

"Oi! England!" he called out. England sighed and put a hand on his head.

"America, you're just about to meet Wales..." he muttered.

* * *

><p>And now for some unneeded explanations! :D<p>

Four hours= This is how many hours it takes to get from London to Edinburgh, in case you haven't guessed already.

Celsius to Fahrenheit= The unit of temperature in London and Edinburgh is Celsius while Fahrenheit is used in America. America just can't do the math to convert it. /shot

I heard the review button has a bad itch on it's nose and it doesn't have any hands to scratch it. Won't you help the poor little guy out and click on it?


	3. Chapter 3

**Due to this taking place in the U.K, I was reading what I was typing to myself in a British accent. I really don't know why (I have an American accent). Anyway, I decided to man up a little, so I put one - keep in mind, ONE - curse word in here. We are in the U.K, after all.**

Wales walked up to the two men standing at the gate. He gave America a once-over. At the same time, America observed the other nation. Wales was a little feminine looking. He was wearing a brown sweater, black pants, and a pair of black boots, caked with dirt. Brown curls peeked out from underneath the cap he was wearing (America had grown up thinking that the Union Jack was the only flag of the U.K, so he didn't know that the cap was modeled after the Welsh flag) and spilled down to gently bob against the nation's shoulder. He also had what America guessed were the Kirkland's signature eyebrows and England's emerald eyes. Wales turned to his brother.

"Now... who is this guy?" he asked England.

"This is America. Otherwise known as Alfred F. Jones, and the bane of my existence." England replied. America frowned at England, who stuck out his tongue. Wales' face contorted into one of pure disgust.

"The guy who broke your heart all those years ago? _That _America?" he asked. America put a hand on his forehead. Oh, how he hated being reminded of that day. The day when he had finally gotten his independence... he would never be able to get rid of the image forever burned into his memory. The image of England's face, torn and streaked with tears, and on his knees, finally submitting to America's independence... that face alone got across the feeling that America had indeed broken England's heart. England frowned.

"I told you, I got over that." he said. Wales rolled his eyes and plastered a smile on his face.

"Anyway, lovely to meet you, _America._ If you want to know where our other brothers are, they're inside." he said. America cringed. Even though he had just met this guy, he had the feeling that he was not welcome here. Wales retreated into the house, and England glanced at America.

"You've been unusually quiet." he noted. America waved his hand.

"I'm afraid my lungs will freeze. You know, the temperature here." he said, not taking into account that the temperature was not that different from that of London. England rolled his eyes and walked into the house. Hesitantly, America followed.

Wales was standing in the hallway, staring into the kitchen. Smoke billowed out through the doorway and hit America's nose dead-on. England put a hand on his forehead; America got the feeling he was mentally counting to ten.

"Dammit, Gwynn, don't just stand there and stare! Help us out!" America heard someone shouting. He guessed that Gwynn was Wales' civilian name (If two countries were close enough, they had rights to call the other nation by their human name). Wales shook his head and walked into the kitchen.

"I'm coming, Scottie!" he called. England finished counting and took a deep breath. He took the younger nation's hand and walked into the kitchen.

"Everyone, calm down!" he shouted to no avail. The chaos continued in the kitchen, but America couldn't see through the smoke.

_Well, now I know where Iggy gets his cooking skills from,_ he thought. He turned to his companion.

"Is this a regular thing?" he asked quietly. England shook his head.

"The smoke and shouting, no. Scotland cooking haggis, yes." he sighed. America raised an eyebrow and turned back to the chaos. The smoke cleared and the shouting finally stopped. He saw a man coughing and waving away the smoke that had hung around his face. The man also had the Iggy-brows (A nickname that America had affectionately bestowed on England's eyebrows, much to the latter nation's chagrin) that America guessed ran in the family. However, this brother had carrot colored hair. What this man was wearing caught America's eye. He was wearing a blue jacket with a white cross design on the back and... a plaid skirt.

"Argh, you botched the dish! You eejit!" he coughed out. A man nearby stopped coughing and glared at Scotland. This one was wearing a white jacket over a green sweater and grey trousers; he also had England's hair color. From what America could see, this brother had green eyes like his brother and, not surprisingly, Iggy-brows.

"You mean _we _botched the dish." he growled. Wales rolled his eyes.

"See, this is why I told you not to cook haggis, _dear brother._" he said. England cleared his throat, making the brothers turn their attention to their guests. Scotland walked up to England.

"Oh, hello there, little brother! How nice to see you." he said. He turned to America. "And... who do we have here?"

"Oh right, you haven't properly been introduced yet. As I expect you to already know, this is Wales. The tall one here, that's Scotland." England said, gesturing to the man in the skirt.

"Why are you wearing a skirt?" America asked.

"It's a fuckin' kilt." Scotland growled, making America take a few steps back. The one that hadn't been named yet raised his hand.

"And I'm Northern Ireland." he said. "And no, you may not call me Ireland. If you do, I swear I'll pummel the crap outta ye." he growled. America didn't object.

"Okay... anyway, I'm America! I'm sure you know me already. After all, I'm the hero." he said, striking a pose.

"Well, you've certainly got an ego." Northern Ireland said with a smirk.

"So says the guy who's afraid of fairies." Wales said, earning a glare from his brother.

"Am not!" Northern Ireland shot back. Just to push his buttons, Wales put on a high-pitched Irish accent and said "Ooh, look at me! I'm afraid to touch little old rocks because I'm afraid I'll get cursed by the mean old fairies! Boo-hoo, I want my mommy!". A fight started, and Scotland went to intervene while England rubbed his temples.

"Please God, kill me now..." America heard him mutter.

* * *

><p>And now for some unneeded explanations! :D<p>

Haggis= A Scottish dish made from sheep stomach. That's why Wales doesn't like it when Scotland cooks it.

Kilt= It's like a skirt, but it's unisex.

Fear of fairies= Back in the early days of Ireland (e.g Iron/Bronze Age), people were afraid to touch rock sculptures because they thought fairies, spirits, and things like that had made them and lived in them (Really, they were tombs made by people of the Stone Age) Generally, the people were afraid that they'd be cursed.


	4. Chapter 4

America squirmed uncomfortably as he and England's brothers sat in the living room. Scotland had managed to break up the fight between his little brothers, but Northern Ireland and Wales were still glaring at each other from across the room. Meanwhile, England had gone to get some tea.

The tension in the air was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. America twiddled his fingers, thinking that he really wanted a hamburger right now... Scotland glanced around to the doorway. For what reason, America didn't know; probably checking for England. When it was clear that England wasn't finished with the tea yet, Scotland stood up and pointed at America.

"Why'd you do it?" Scotland asked. America frowned at the finger that was directed toward him.

"Do what?" he answered with a question.

"You know bloody well what I mean." Scotland growled. America furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head.

"...I'm sorry, I still have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." he said. Scotland sighed and let his arm fall to his side. Northern Ireland and Wales stopped their glaring contest to stand up and walk up beside their brother.

"He means your independence, stupid." Northern Ireland said, crossing his arms. "Do you have any idea how much you broke _dearthair's _heart?"

Oh crap, not this again. America raised his hands to his head and rubbed his temples. How many times would he have to be reminded of that time? How many times did he have to see England kneeling on the ground? He opened his eyes, one pair of sky blue eyes meeting three pairs of eyes that had so often been compared to emeralds.

"England said he was over that." America said.

"And you believed him? Honestly! You should hear him on the Fourth of July! The man cries himself to sleep, and _you! Are! The reason!_" Wales snapped. America's eyes widened. England cried himself to sleep? Was what he did really that bad?

Well, that was just great. Now he had a cloud of guilt hanging over his head.

"I said I was sorry!" America shot back. Scotland rolled his eyes.

"Ooh, look, the wee baby's sorry. Do you think 'sorry' helps rebuild Arthur's heart? Huh?" he asked, stomping up to America. "You have no idea how much you hurt him!"

"Yeah, even we don't go that far!" Northern Ireland said, joining his older brother. Wales looked at Northern Ireland with a confusing glance.

"But what about Republic?" he asked. America could tell that Wales had struck a nerve, because Northern Ireland turned his head Exorcist-style to glare at his brother.

"Gwynn... _shut up._" the latter nation said to his brother through clenched teeth. Wales cringed and nodded.

"Yes, brother..." he said. Northern Ireland turned his attention back to America, who took the chance to say something for once.

"Arthur tells me you guys constantly beat him up and tell him that you hate him! Shouldn't that be a lot worse?" America asked. Scotland hesitated for a bit, and America used that opportunity to squirm out of his grip (while Wales and Northern Ireland were talking, Scotland had grabbed the front of America's shirt and yanked him out of the seat).

"Yeah, but that's normal with, oh, I don't know, _97.2 percent of all siblings!_" Wales snapped. Scotland nodded and made to punch America before England's voice rang out through the room.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" England asked. Scotland looked up and stopped mid-punch. America ducked under England's brother's arm and ran to the couch, planting his backside into it. If America had wanted to, he could have fought back, but he didn't want to risk getting on England's bad side by hurting his family. England tapped his foot, waiting for a reply; he was holding a tray with a teapot and some teacups on it, so obviously he couldn't cross his arms.

"Well?" England asked.

"We were beating the shit outta this guy fer breakin' yer heart all those years ago." Scotland said as if they were discussing the weather. England shook his head.

"Honestly, how many times do I have to tell you people that I got over that? Stop it this instant. You're acting like children," he sighed, walking over to the table in the middle of them and putting the tea tray down on it.

* * *

><p><strong>So, yeah. This story is almost finished, but there might be an unexpected guest... anyway, sorry for the short (and cliché) chapter, everyone!<strong>

Republic = Wales is referring to their sister, the Republic of Ireland. They don't really talk about her that often.

97.2 = I just pulled this figure out of the air :T


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: ASDFGHJKLQWERTYUIOPZXCVBNM**

**It's been so long since I last updated this story! D: I missed you guys!**

***The United Kingdom looks at Otaku with murderous looks in their eyes!***

**O_O D-Don't worry... I-I missed you guys too! *hugs British Aisles awkwardly***

Silence.

It rang throughout the house and creeped America out thoroughly. England's brothers were still glaring at him, albeit a little less harshly. Uncomfortable with this, Wales looked around and cleared his throat.

"So... America, can you tell us about yourself?" he asked. Sometimes, he would be called the only sane one in the family, but that wasn't true at all. In fact, England would be the sanest... when he was sober, that is. America thought through this question, rubbing an invisible beard on his chin. Northern Ireland leaned forward, intrigued; he always had a small interest in America, mostly influenced by England insulting him at whatever chance he got in regular conversation. He wanted to see if what England said was really true; Northern Ireland usually thought that England exaggerated things quite often.

"Hrm, where to start... well, for one thing my favorite food is hamburgers..." he voiced, only to be interrupted by Northern Ireland.

"Oh, we knew that! England told us that you can't stop eating them, and half the time you- MMPH!" Northern Ireland was cut off by England putting a hand over his mouth, hissing to him to shut up. America cocked an eyebrow, wondering what Northern Ireland would have said if he hadn't been interrupted. Shaking it off, America returned to telling everyone about himself. Luckily, he was interrupted by a loud knocking on the door before he would name the fifty states of his place. Briskly, Scotland stood up and answered the door. A loud shout of greeting sounded out, and a distinctly feminine voice mixed with it. Scotland came back into the room, leading a woman in a white blouse, a dark blue vest, and a green skirt that reached her knees. Her hair was blonde, stood up slightly, and it had some slight purple streaks in it. There was a cowlick on her head, not unlike America's. Admittedly, she looked a little familiar, and a bit like Northern Ireland...

"South!" Northern Ireland cried as he stood up and ran into his sister's open arms. "I really missed you!"

"I missed ye too!" Southern Ireland said, laughing as she ruffled her twin brother's hair. Wales stood to the side, taking in the side. England seemed to be rooted to his spot, gaping at Ireland, his mouth open as if he was a dead fish. After several greetings were exchanged, Ireland finally noticed America. She waved at him.

"Hi there, America! Long time no see!" she said, walking up and patting his shoulder. America just looked at her with the same look England wore when confronted with the name 'Canada'; in short, the look that said 'Sorry, but I don't know who you are...'. Seeing this, England cautiously stood up.

"Ah, Ireland... I'm sorry, but America doesn't seem to recall your name..." he said, stepping up to stand beside his sister. "Would you mind helping him out?"

"Ah, eejit..." Ireland sighed, rubbing her temples. "Don't you remember? You volunteered to bring some of my people across the ocean to your place?"

America narrowed his eyes, racking his brain.

"Umm..." he mumbled. Still nothing. Ireland sighed and slapped her forehead.

"You stupid... I'm Southern Ireland! You know, Republic?" she asked hopefully. America's eyes widened, and he blushed a little at not remembering someone.

"Oh, right... sorry 'bout that," he apologized sheepishly – no pun intended – and shook Ireland's hand.

"So, Scottie over there's told me that you're here with Iggy," Ireland said, gesturing over her shoulder at Scotland and ignoring the glare from 'Iggy'. "You his boyfriend or something?"

"NO!" England and America shouted in unison. Ireland chuckled a little.

"Well, whatever. Now, I'm still a little steamed at you for breaking his heart, so is it alright if I punch you in the face?" she asked. America's eyes practically bugged out of his head. Scotland and the others cringed at this, not forgetting that night's earlier events.

"Don't try, England will probably give out to you again," Wales said, crossing his arms in an 'X' sign.

"I know, I was just joking. However, I _will _forgive you for helping me out during the Famine," Ireland chuckled out. She turned and walked towards her brother. "Now sorry, but I have to discuss something with Ulster."

Eyes wide, Northern Ireland was led out of the room by his sister. America heard a snippet of their conversation, but for the life of him didn't understand what they were talking about – they were conversing in Irish.

"... bhogann tú amach as an teach? Ná tú..." Republic said as she shut the door.

"What was all that about?" America questioned, slightly bemused by England's sister. Why didn't he tell him about her? Did she do something to hurt him or something?

"Oh, that's Ireland, as you should know by now." England said, taking his seat once again.

"Then how come you haven't mentioned her?" America interrogated, looking around at the British Aisles excluding Ireland. That same awkward silence from earlier made itself known once again.

"...it's a bit hard to explain..." Wales said as best as he could, glaring slightly at Scotland when he asked "A bit?" under his breath. "But, let's just say... I think England doesn't talk about the Revolutionary war for the same reason."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter ends here! Ahaha, I probably sound like I look down on Britain with disdain, but I don't really ;_; There's some slight foreshadowing in this. I'm not going to say what, however it does have something to do with America's states c:<strong>

Ulster- That's another name for Northern Ireland. The other parts of Ireland belonging to the Republic are; Leinster, Munster, and Connaught.

Ireland's hair color- Most character designs have her being a red-head. However, this isn't very common in Ireland (there's around four red-heads in my entire school). Blonde hair is also more common than brunette hair – I'm the only brunette in my class.

The streaks in Ireland's hair- These reference two things; one, Celtic times when warriors would spike up their hair with berries to make themselves look more intimidating, leaving the color of the berries in their hair. Two, the amount of people that dye their hair here }:T

Ye- People here actually say this. Seriously, I'll quote my English teacher; "Now, _ye _girls better finish this book report in time, as it counts as a large part of your grade."

Volunteering to bring Ireland's people across the ocean- During the Irish famine, several hundred families in Ireland immigrated to America. Check your blood, there may be some Irish running in it.

Ireland's cowlick- In my head-canon, this represents Dublin.

What Ireland said- ...you move out of the house? Don't you... (I had to use Google Translate for this ;u;)

**On an unimportant side note, I wrote Ireland's MKC!**

**Nee nee daidí, Guinness choudai**

**Nee nee máthair, nee nee máthair**

**Mukashi ni tabeta Irish stew no**

**Ano aji ga wasurerarenainda~!**

**Marukaite chikyuu**

**Marukaite chikyuu**

**Marukaite chikyuu**

**Boke wa Airurando**

**Aa hitofude de**

**Mieru subarashii sekai**

**Watashi wa Igirisu no ichibude wa nai yo**

**TL;DR**


End file.
